What you fight for
by Scripticist27
Summary: There are a lot of fights echoing around the wasteland, what do you fight for?


**What you fight for**

Bricks and gravel crunched beneath weary feet as Michael worked his way through the ruins of old DC. He pulled his hand through short brown hair as his shoulders sagged from hours of holding up heavy combat armour. The rifle and shotgun slung across his back acting as dead weight. The hot wasteland sun bearing down on him as he lazily trudged homeward.

Home, now there was a loaded word. Ever since being kicked out of the only home he had ever known, he wasn't really sure where he belonged, if he even did. Sure he had a place in Megaton, and plenty of other settlements would keep him sheltered at the end of the day, but most felt alien and cold, despite the warm words and friendly faces.

The lone wanderer, that was his title, might as well be his name. Wandering around the wastes, helping people with their problems, usually through violent means. It was strange how putting down creatures and people alike could garner such favour and even fame.

That was just the way of the world though wasn't it? The Great War may be over, but the conflict remained. The scale was just smaller now. A thousand little wars raged across the earth between peoples and beasts just trying to survive.

Michael had lost count of how many bandit parties, ghoul infestations and god knows what else he had wiped from the earth. For each one there was a grateful community, eager to help him on his way with makeshift supplies and scraps of information.

So here he was again, picking his way through an old office building after gunning down some super mutants to clear the way for Reilly's Rangers band of mercs. They were good people, not like the average cap hungry whores Michael had clashed with a few times.

The Rangers were out to make a difference in the wastes, clearing vital routes for supply caravans and mapping the ruins of the old capital. They weren't in it for the profit; they tried to help people when they could. Michael guessed that he was trying to do the same thing really. So when good fortune brought the two together, Michael jumped at the chance to join the small band and help out.

There were only five of them in total, but they could hold their own against nearly any adversary in the wasteland. There was always the risk of losing someone though; premature death was a part of life now. It almost felt strange how quickly he had accepted that after life in the relative safety of the vault.

Society around here was built on the presumption that everyone else was hostile. So, anyone and everyone was armed with whatever they could get their hands on, trained soldier or no. Michael had even seen some kids bearing arms in his travels. The world was a fucked up place.

He readjusted his grip on the assault rifle across his back as he crossed a large crater in the middle of the street. A gruff shout carried its way over to him from around the street corner.

Pulled from his musings, Michael retrieved his rifle and stooped low as he pattered alongside the skeletal buildings. Careful with his footing, he took position on the corner building and peeped round.

A group of super mutants were lumbering down the street towards him. Cursing under his breath as he realised they were blocking his route, he quickly reassessed. He could certainly take down a few of them, but his fatigue would likely get the better of him.

Hunkering down below a destroyed window ledge, he made to double back and hide in one of the more complete buildings till they passed. As quietly as he could, he forced open a door and shut himself inside moderate darkness. Moving over to the window, he caught glimpse of the first mutant stalking onto the street. The room darkened further as another loomed dangerously close to the window. Michael could hear its heavy breathing through the muddied glass.

With agonising slowness, the mutants eventually passed the building. The sound of bricks being kicked aside and metal scraping the tarmac gradually lessened. Bringing his breathing back down to its casual speed, Michael chanced a look out of the door, opening it a crack. The raiding party were nearly at the other end of the street. Relieved he had escaped another fight; he carefully exited the building and backed away from the mutants. As quietly as he could, he edged across the torn road, never taking his eyes off the giant mutants.

"… you guys and gals ever seen, a _tree?_"

Michael cursed as Three Dogs distinctive and most unwelcome voice pounded out of his Pip-Boy. The mutants looked up at each other in confusion.

"No no no, not those shrivelled black things …"

Barely a second to lose, Michael ran towards a burned out car and slid behind it, kicking up dust and gravel as he went. A shout from one of the mutants confirmed his fears. A barrage of bullets almost instantly started slamming into the husk of the car.

The wanderer waited for a lull in the firing when the mutants would inevitably reload before springing up from cover and returning fire. He lodged a few rounds in one mutants shoulder before being forced back into cover. A gargled scream confirmed his kill.

He made it four mutants still standing, versus just him and Three Dogs obnoxiously loud voice, acting like a beacon. Michael angrily bashed his Pip-Boy on the car frame but to no avail, Three Dog continued his lecture.

The wanderer used the next lull in firing to roll behind some intake masonry, noisily scrapping his green combat armour in the process. A plethora of bullets followed him and fell into the stonework.

"… bringing you the truth, no matter how bad it hurts."

Michael mentally promised a lot of hurt for Three Dog should he get out of this. Firing another salvo, another mutant fell. Three to one, but the rest were moving in and he had nowhere to go.

Three Dog had begun to play a rather cheery song as more fire came from the enraged mutants. Really it would be pretty funny had it not been a fight to the death. Still, there were worse ways to die, like falling off a cliff or wandering into lethal amounts of radiation.

A shrill screech pierced the air as a rocket hunted after the wanderer and tore at the stone wall. Michael covered his head instinctively as masonry peppered him like confetti.

"I'm tickled pink, the moon is yellow …"

Michael chuckled despite himself, of all the near death experiences he'd escaped since, and during, his flight from the vault, and this was how it ended. Killed by his own Pip-Boy.

"Ok … come on." He breathed as he reloaded his rifle, plenty of rounds left. He may die here, but he'd take as many of the bastards with him as he could. Swinging his gun around the corner, he sprayed his attackers with more bullets.

Sudden pain fired through his shoulder. Gasping with pain he fell back against the stone wall, a quick glance at the rough hole in his armour. A bright red stain was quickly growing along his pale skin. A coppery shine showed the bullet embedded in him, not too deep, but just in the wrong place. Even his adrenaline couldn't stay the pain as he felt his arm lose strength. Fumbling for a stimpack, he stabbed his shoulder and injected a slow numbness that gradually took over the pain.

The sound of gunfire didn't let up for a minute. They could sense their gaining advantage. Another rocket flew past, easily wide of its target. Heavy footfalls grew like the drums of war. They were moving in to finish the kill.

Discarding his rifle, he gripped his shotgun with his left hand, praying his aim and control was as good with that side. The wanderer struggled to keep it steady with his weaker arm, his right braced against his chest uselessly. He'd only have one chance, but he could take at least one more down. Excited shouts followed by gruff footsteps announced their advance. Michael shut his eyes tight, forcing himself to wait till the last second.

A shout, not mutant, rang out across the street. Michael opened his eyes just in time to see a flurry of bullets charge straight towards the mutants. Screams of pain and anguish filled the air as they fell one by one. Then just as soon as this new attack began, it was over. A tense stillness settled over the battlefield.

Not taking anything for granted, Michael took position behind new cover to better protect himself. Peeking from behind a wall, he caught a glimpse of four armed figures, certainly not super mutants, and all clad in green.

"Hey there Mickey," called an all too familiar voice "having a nice nap are we?" Brick yelled over to him. Relieved, the wanderer sagged against the car, weapon dropping to the floor with a clang. He chuckled as he made to get up, forgetting his recent injury and collapsing on his arm with a sharp cry of pain. Butcher the medic jogged over.

"Easy there," the medic eased him to sit on a car as he looked over the wanderer's latest wound "you're lucky we turned up when we did."

"You took your sweet time getting here." Michael hissed as Butcher proceeded to dig into his shoulder. "Do you really have to do that here?"

The medic waved him off, "relax, I do these kinds of procedures all the time, best get it out as soon as." Reilly and the others wandered up to them, checking the surrounding area for more threats as they came.

"You ok there soldier?" Reilly asked with concern, to which the wanderer nodded with a smile. Brick ambled over to his side and ruffled his hair, which earned her a scowl.

"Seriously, where would you be without us?" She laughed, ignoring his grimace as Butcher muttered a quick apology.

"At the bottom of the nearest ditch probably," Michael muttered humorously "though I did fine enough without you guys for ages before I joined your merry band of misfits." Donovan chuckled a little way off as he checked the mutant bodies for loot.

"Oh really?" Butcher huffed "I've seen all your scars, they beg to differ."

"You have, have you?" Brick perked up "best look out captain, the new guy here will be stealing Butch from you." Reilly responded with a shake of her head and a light flush on her cheeks. Butcher fared little better, much to the heavy's delight.

The wanderer brought them back to seriousness after a suitable time of embarrassment. "I've cleared out the square north of here, but the subway looks a different story," Michael reported "looks like a there's a horde of ghouls down there."

Their captain nodded slowly as she processed this information, "good work, we'll get it cleared out soon enough."

"There," Butcher gave him a pat on the shoulder, much to the wanderer's irritation, "good as new, though I wouldn't be wrestling any Deathclaws for a while yet."

"Duly noted," Michael flexed his shoulder, testing its limits "I'll leave those duties to Brick." He added with a sly smile, bending to retrieve his weapons. Butcher however, took them from him and shook his head with a smile.

The heavy specialist just rolled her eyes. "Bah, I could take you all with a bullet in both my shoulders." The gang chuckled as they started their way back to base.

"You'll need to take a few days off," Reilly stated in her authoritative voice she used when there was to be no argument "captain's orders."

"Come on, I can still fight," Michael appealed half-heartedly; he knew she was right but he didn't have to like it. They performed this pointless banter from time to time, and they both knew that the captain was right in the end. The red head just shook her head with a small smile.

"You and I both know that we need you at your best, not with a lousy shoulder," she glanced down at his arm "you might want to go get your toy fixed as well." He looked at his arms confused, and then saw a gaping hole in the side of his Pip-Boy. He hadn't even realised that it wasn't spouting music anymore.

"Damn," Michael toyed with the buttons fruitlessly "I wonder if I can get it fixed." He looked back at Donovan, their resident engineer, hopefully.

"Don't look at me kid," He answered a little gruffly "I don't even understand how that piece of RobCo trash works." Michael scowled and huffed despondently, muttering something about Donovan being a piece of trash. Ahead of him, Brick and Butcher shared a look.

"Why not try Craterside Supply in Megaton," Butcher called over his shoulder "that Moira's supposed to be good at fixing things."

"Hmm," The wander pondered for a moment "if anyone could get it working again it would probably be her". Brick smiled at nothing in particular. Michael hardly noticed, trying in vain to bring his Pip-Boy to life again.

They carried on back to HQ, where Butcher checked again on Michael's wound and they all spent the rest of the evening checking their supplies, maintaining equipment and regaling each other with their tales of heroism they had accomplished that day. For a boy who'd grown up in a sealed vault, this was all surprising normal. Managing weapon supplies with Brick, going on patrol with Donovan, talking strategy with Reilly. The past few months had seen the wanderer settle into life with the Rangers.

Hell, to Michael, this was as close to a home as he'd found in the wastes. They were almost like a strange, dysfunctional family, one that went out to casually murder anything that looked at them funny, but a sort of happy family. Still, for all the camaraderie and support that they gave, there was something … not wrong, but missing. He wasn't even sure that he'd ever realise what it was. So for now at least, he'd take pleasure in talking shop with Donovan and teasing Butcher about his relationship with Reilly. Here, he finally realised, he had found his home. This was what he was fighting for.

* * *

Michael woke to the familiar sight of a metallic ceiling, and the slight snoring of a few of his compatriots. Easing himself out of bed, he was reminded of last night's injury with a fresh jolt of pain that brought a hiss to his lips. He gingerly checked the wound to assess the damage, no more bleeding which was something at least.

He carefully got dressed and moved out to the armoury. Retrieving all of his equipment, the wanderer got them checked and ready. Quiet all the time to not wake the others.

"Going somewhere?" The sudden noise made the fabled wanderer jump a few feet, he turned to find Donovan standing in the doorway, arms crossed. "You know that you're in no state to be traipsing across the wasteland on your own." The engineer scolded slightly.

The wanderer returned to fitting his gear. "I need to get my Pip-Boy fixed, and you know that I hate being cooped up when there is something that needs doing."

Donovan unfolded his arms, sighing wearily. "Reilly would have my head if I let you go out there on your own."

Michael chuckled a little at that. "Come on, I'm the Lone Wanderer, you must have heard tales of my exploits on GNR," he struck an epic pose and continued dramatically "I free slaves, help the helpless and … other stuff." The engineer smiled a little.

"You'll be the famous ex-Lone Wanderer if you head out to Megaton with that arm," seeing that there was no dissuading him, Donovan sighed and moved to his own gear "come on then, we'd better be quick or Reilly will have both our hides." Michael grinned and patted his comrade on the shoulder. He knew that while Donovan liked to act the responsible one of the group, he liked getting out and into the fight just as much as the rest of them.

So with a note of their absence tapped to the fridge, the wanderer and the engineer set off for Megaton. It was mostly an uneventful journey, barring an altercation with a group of Deathclaws who took issue about the human's presence in their nest. It took a bit of destructive improvisation from Donovan, who brought down a pylon onto a couple of them to get away.

Oh, and they did get lost more than once without a functioning Pip-Boy. Michael was certain he was leading them the right way when they wound up at Rivet city … twice. They eventually reached the makeshift town by the evening, and somehow in more or less pristine condition.

"How many times do I have to tell you," Michael pleaded with his irritated companion "I didn't know that path lead right into a Deathclaws nest." The great mechanised gate opened above them as they trudged into town. The wanderer nodded to Sheriff Simms as they passed, the gruff mayor doing the same.

"Sure, you're lucky I decided to come with you," the engineer muttered with a shake of his head "this kind of crap happens to you often doesn't it?" He turned to the wanderer with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," Michael nodded a little glumly "more than I care to admit really." His friend chuckled at the admission.

"Look, just go and get that toy fixed, I'll be at the bar till you're done." Donovan made off to the bar; Michael started to check the time on his Pip-Boy before realising his mistake. It was surely far too early to be getting drunk. Shrugging at his companion's strangeness, the wanderer ambled over to Craterside Supply.

As he opened the scrap metal door, the sound of a small explosion ricocheted into Michael. A cloud of smoke filled the room and coughing erupted from the two inhabitants. A tall figure burst from the door as the resident mercenary fled the store.

Catching sight of the wanderer, the merc staggered away from the workshop. "Leave me out of that girl's crazy experiments. I don't get paid enough for that!" he spluttered as he gulped down fresh air. Chuckling a little, Michael entered the store gingerly wafting away as he did. He caught sight of the energetic red haired inventor tinkering away at some sort of contraption. Dressed in her usual engineer overalls, Moira was clearly getting nowhere with her project. Not that that would impact her cheerful disposition.

Looking over her shoulder, she caught sight of the wanderer "Don't mind the smoke," She coughed "It's perfectly safe to breathe … really." Evidently giving her invention up as a lost cause, she clapped her hands absentmindedly and returned to her place at the shops counter. A smudge of grease had found its way onto her cheek, yet she smiled sunnily as she greeted him. "What can I do for you super assistant?" Her bright green eyes asked him.

"Err … yeah, I um, may have broken my Pip-Boy, do you think you could fix it?" The fabled wanderer sputtered out; smoke still lingering in the air.

The inventor took one look at his arm and quickly pulled it onto the counter, examining the Pip-Boy while twisting Michael's arm with it.

"Ah! Easy there." He warned, though Moira appeared to not be paying any attention. In moments she had the front of the Pip-Boy off and exposed its motherboard and frayed wiring, while still attached to Michael's arm.

"So, uh … do you think you can fix it?" Michael questioned again, to which Moira looked up at him, a cute little frown on her face. She suddenly ducked under the counter and popped back up a moment later with an assortment of tools. A screwdriver gripped in her mouth like a puppy with a bone. A tilt of her head added to the likeness.

She pulled the screwdriver from her mouth and flashed him another bright smile. "Of course I can," she answered sunnily "It'll be better than ever when I'm done with it." And so she set into the machine with enthusiasm. Michael just stood there awkwardly, his arm completely at the red heads mercy.

"Shouldn't I take it off first?" The wanderer quizzed nervously, a few sparks had flared from the motherboard already. Moira however, just waved him away with a short laugh.

"Oh no, it'll be much quicker and easier like this … your arm makes a good rest," Michael felt pressure on his arm as she tried to force something free "besides, it'll probably be ok, I've removed the …" a pause, then she suddenly started to laugh.

A frown found its way to Michael's face as Moira turned his arm over and fiddled with the back compartment, she held up a battery a moment later. Shaking her head slightly she answered the wanderer's puzzled look "I forgot to remove the battery," the inventor laughed "I'd probably forget to screw my head on in the mornings some days."

Michael's eyes widened, feeling decidedly less than confident. By then though, Moira had resumed her work and didn't look like abating till she'd finished. Moira said little more as she worked, save for the odd question to the Pip-Boy such as 'how do you work now?' and 'what are you for?' Michael contented himself to stand there as comfortably as he could and try to pick up what he could, he might not be able to get a professional to repair it next time.

The latest noise of approval from Moira drew Michael's attention; she was still focused fully on the Pip-boy. Her dark red hair dishevelled slightly, a few strands had escaped the bun at the back of her head. The tip of her tongue was poking out between her lips slightly as she concentrated. Despite the grime that patched her face and clothing, she still looked endearing.

The inventor looked up at Michael with a smile, "nearly done now." She announced merrily. Michael looked away quickly, cheeks reddening slightly. He shouldn't stare like that, he knew he shouldn't. His dad had raised him better than that. Shaking it off as fatigue from the journey he busied his eyes with the artefacts that littered the shop.

"A … ahem, good." He coughed again, that smoke must be still in the air. Thick footsteps brought Moira's mercenary back into the store, evidently reassured that he wasn't going to choke to death inside. He caught sight of the pair at the counter and rolled his eyes at them theatrically before moving into the next room. Frowning, the wanderer was about to question the peculiar action.

"Here we go …" Moira's mutterings brought Michael's attention back to the Pip-Boy. He got a brief glimpse of the interior workings before the inventor sealed the front panel and locked it in place. "Better than new!" She exclaimed, giving his arm an affectionate pat.

The wanderer tested it out a little; all functions seemed to be working fine; map, inventory even the damn radio was fixed. He hadn't even mentioned that. He noticed that the familiar vault boy figure on the display had been altered slightly; it now featured a smiley face with the number three for a mouth. How very Moira, the woman was so cheery despite all the pain and hardship that was everyday life. He'd always admired that about her.

"Thanks," Michael smiled his appreciation "how much do I owe you?" The inventor however just waved him off.

"Don't be silly!" she shook her head "with all the help you've given me, I'm always happy to help you out."

"No, no, come on," Michael reached for his caps "I can't just- Ah!" His shoulder protested violently as he twisted it. He placed his left hand over his injury as the pain lessened. He really needed to stop forgetting he'd been shot.

"What's wrong?" Moira placed a hand over his on the offending shoulder, concern written all over her face.

"It's nothing," Michael attempted to wave her off, pulling away from her contact a little quickly "just a recent wound, nothing serious."

"Here, let me," without further ado, she rounded the counter and started pulling his chest piece off.

"Hey … you don't- let me" protested the wanderer as he took over her task, the red head waiting impatiently as he gingerly slipped his armour over his shoulder. "There's really no need …" he half-heartedly protested, but he knew that like Reilly, Moira was not to be dissuaded.

She pulled the collar of his shirt down to get a closer look at his bandages; they were already showing a bright red splotch.

"I've healed you before," she replied just as cheerily as when she was working on his Pip-boy "I know what I'm doing." She retreated to her backroom only to re-emerge moments later with medicine and bandages.

"That's not what I meant." Michael complained as she stripped his old bandages from him, exposing an angry red hole. Moira sharply inhaled as she saw it.

"Ouch, and I know that's not what you meant," she scolded him with a light smile "I can't let my number one research assistant get a nasty infection can I? Well I only have one research assistant, but if I had anymore you'd still be number one!" The inventor frowned in thought slightly as she applied some antiseptic to his wound, earning her a hiss. "Unless one of the others got me a gauss rifle … I've always wanted one of those …."

Listening to Moira ramble on, Michael just smiled and chuckled a little. "What?" the red head paused in her work as she looked at him a little oddly.

"Nothing," the wanderer still smiling, after a moment he added "and thank you." She was finishing her new clean bandaging as she smiled another starry smile, green eyes sparkled.

"No problem," she finished the bandage with something of a flourish which earned her a chuckle from the wanderer "now, you better not put yourself under any strain for a few days, get plenty to eat and drink and … oh! No gun fights for at least a week!" She brandished a roll of bandages at him like a knife.

Michael put on his most serious of faces and gave her a quick salute with his good arm. "Yes ma'am." She sniggered at that as she gathered up her equipment to place in the backroom. He carefully replaced his armour.

"Good and I'll be popping over to check on you, you're to stay at your house here for now, got it?" She stopped mid step as an idea hit her "Hmm, I could have a go at programming Wadsworth again." Her eyes light up as the possibilities shuttled through her mind.

"As long as he doesn't try to kill me again." Michael commented dryly, the last time he let Moira near Wadsworth she had somehow overwritten his friend-foe identifier, causing the robotic butler to chase after Michael with nothing but a toothbrush.

"I fixed it!" Moira called from the backroom, she re-emerged a moment later brushing a wayward strand of hair from her face "It was only a small mistake anyway, this time things will go much smoother." She took her usual place behind the counter, twirling a screwdriver between her fingers as she continued to think of the possibilities.

"I don't want another rampage," the wanderer pressed wearily, Moira pouted "he did enough damage last time, and that was only with a toothbrush" He tilted his head and pointed at a pale clean scar on the side of his nose "this wasn't from a Deathclaw you know."

The red head chuckled "Oh you poor thing," she muttered sarcastically then leant in and gave him a quick kiss on the nose "there all better now."

He had to blink a few times to process that. Did she just … no, she couldn't have. The inventor turned back to the machine she was toying with when he entered, was that a flash of red on her cheeks?

"Now go on," she coughed a little awkwardly "go get some rest." She began tinkering with the lightly smoking contraption, her back to him "Doctor's orders remember?" She added with a quick smirk over her shoulder.

Michael chuckled "Thanks again, I owe you one," He paused just as he was about to leave "say, how about I treat you to dinner? You know, as a way of saying thanks." He coughed; the inventor paused in her work and turned to look at him with amusement. She put on a serious face and pretended to consider the matter with much thought.

"Well, only if you don't open that wound again … and if you let me have a look at Wadsworth again." Moira offered with a playfully mischievous glint in her bright green eyes. With a sigh, the wanderer held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Ok, ok you win, you can have another go at Wadsworth," the red head gave a short squeal of delight "but please, _please_," he emphasised the word "don't go crazy, I don't want to get kicked out of here because my robot went on a killing spree."

Moira resumed her most serious composure after a short victory dance "I swear that I will be a paragon of professionalism." Her faux respectable voice did little to inspire confidence in Michael.

"Right, well I'll see you tomorrow at eight then?" He made his way to the door.

"Tomorrow at eight," Moira nodded sagely "Oh and make something tasty, I like tasty food!" She switched her attention back to her project as Michael meandered through the door.

"Of- of course." The wanderer frowned in confusion. She likes tasty food, doesn't everyone? Shrugging it off he made his way down to The Brass Lantern, squinting a little as the sun began to set below the steel walls of the makeshift town.

Donovan was right where he said he would be, doing his best to drown himself at the bar. Michael had never understood people's fascination with alcohol; all it did was make you careless and foolish. He'd seen it before a hundred times. He eased himself into a stool besides his comrade, who greeted him with a grunt.

"Got your toy fixed then?" He asked a little hoarsely, how much had he drunk while Michael was gone? The engineer waved away Jenny Stahl when she approached offering more refreshment.

"Sure did," the wanderer picked up his arm and examined Moira's handiwork once more "I won't be heading back with you for a while, I outta stay here and recuperate a bit." His eyes narrowed a little as he noticed that Moira had somehow inverted the controls to the Pip-Boy. He'd have to get her to fix it before he left.

"Oh, I thought you were itching to get back out in the wide wasteland." Donovan eyed him suspiciously.

Michael shrugged a little sheepishly "Doctor's orders," a pause, and then Donovan grinned and shook his head "what's up?" the wanderer questioned.

"Nothing," Donovan downed the last of his drink then got up "only Butcher will be jealous." He wandered off at a leisurely pace towards Moriarty's Saloon, leaving a confused Michael sitting alone at the bar.

Honestly, sometimes he barely understood his friends. Shaking his head for what felt like the millionth time that night, he picked himself up and headed up the banking to his home. Entering the door to be greeted by the quiet hum of Wadsworth drifting about the place, it was a definite change of surroundings to life at the Ranger outpost. The robotic butler greeted him kindly and Michael returned it, absently thinking of the plans Moira had no doubt concocted for it.

Careful as he changed not to aggravate his shoulder, Michael eased himself into bed and found the silence of the place deafening. He had gotten used to the raucous Ranger's and their loud, boisterous ways. When he was younger he preferred silence and his own solitude. Now he was having difficulty sleeping without the familiar habits of the merc band.

Still, it was not like he was an outsider here anymore. He'd literally saved the town from a nuclear blast among other things. Now the people thought of him as one of their own. It was a nice thought. Despite the fact that there were few people here Michael would actually consider a friend, he would do his bit for them all, defend them if he must. A boy from a hole in the ground, now the noble defender of a shanty town, he thought with a smile. Not exactly the makings of epic tales he'd read as child, but it'd do for him.

A small but audible bang shook Michael from his thoughts, followed by loud coughing.

Moira, the wanderer thought with a fond smile. She must still be at work even at this time. The coughing gradually subsided, replaced by silence once more, but Michael found it easier to sleep. Knowing that a certain red haired maniac with a knack for technology was at her workshop, brought a smile to his lips. He was looking forward to their meal the next day. He had to make sure to make something tasty.


End file.
